


Verglas

by Silverhart (Avalbane)



Category: Eldemore
Genre: Breaking canon, Festival of Lights, Fluff, Gift, M/M, Pancakes, Silverport, Willy breaks everything, Yuletide, birdmomma, fluffy Pancakes, holiday heist, pancake ship, piratedad, young Sorren, young Willy, your daily recommended dose of pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 10:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalbane/pseuds/Silverhart
Summary: Years before the Sealer's adventures, it's Silverport's annual Festival of Lights. A young halfborn settles in for a long winters nap - only to be accosted by a bombastic sailor spouting tales of a treasure.





	Verglas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Benathorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benathorn/gifts).



_What an ugly night_ , Sorren thought to himself. He pulled the moth eaten blanket closer around his shoulders and tried to ignore the cold as best he could. If he just focused on the rope in his hands, he could block out the discomfort. The wind rattled against a barn door that clung desperately to hinges that had seen better days, blowing in a flurry of snow. It seemed no matter which way he burrowed into the straw, some part of him was always cold. Sorren had to admit he’d grown soft aboard ship - a moderately clean hammock and a full meal every night had put him off this sort of vagrant living. That however, had been summer, a time when every man grew rich, as opposed to now when every man grew poor.

He breathed into his hands in an attempt to warm his running nose. A rustling made him peer between his fingers at a black crow rolling in the straw. At least Muzu seemed to be enjoying himself.

The soft sounds of sleeping humans and sleipnir drifted down to where he lay curled in a stall. The rest of the travelers were bedded down in the loft above him, snug and close in the warmest corner, catching all the rising heat off the slumbering equine. By way of his parentage, made clear by his two-toned eyes, Sorren had been forced to bed below, “with the other beasts.” Which was how he found himself roommating with an eight-legged bay mare. _Count your blessings - at least you’re out of the wind._ A sudden rumble was all the warning he got before his nose was graced with a breeze of whatever the mare’s last meal was. Muzu squawked in alarm and burrowed into the straw next to the halfborn, as Sorren sighed. He couldn’t wait for winter to be over, and be back aboard ship, with baubles to spare.

At least in regards to that last, that meant getting out from under the ship cook’s thumb and doing some real sailcraft. He redoubled his efforts on the piece of rope, trying to remember the intricate knots he’d seen aboard the ships, dissecting them in his mind. The halfborn growled in frustration, feeling the slip of concentration, the tingling sense of angry magic bubbling hot in his gut. His fingers were too damn cold - he was cold all over. If he just reached for the magic he could rip the stupid rope to tatters and… but he dashed the rope against the wall instead, and sat glaring at it, as he tried to reclaim his calm.

The creak of the stable door made Sorren lift his head instinctively. The stall door in this rickety barn was nothing more then a bar of wood, allowing him to glance out between the mare’s eight legs to see a pair of snow-covered boots walk into view. “Lord o’ Storms - it’s cold enough to freeze the barbs off a basilisk.”

Sorren stirred. That voice sounded familiar. But it couldn’t be - “Willy?”

“Ah!” A flushed face appeared where the boots had been, flashing an upside down grin. Oh no. _Why did I open my mouth._ “There ye are, pinfeathers! The tavernkeep said I might find ye here.”

Sorren desperately wished he could bury his face in the straw along with Muzu, but it was too late for that now. Could this night get any worse? Curse him. Curse him, and curse that tavernkeep. She’d seemed like such a nice old lady too, pointing him in the direction of a stable owner who let travelers sleep in his loft. She’d even given him a cookie.

“I can come back at a better time - wasn’t aware you was entertaining a lassie.” Willy gave the sleipnir a saucy wink. She snored. “Didn’t know you was a leg man, Sorren.”

Steeling his features into an unreadable mask, Sorren sat up. He focused on brushing the straw from his hair. If he didn’t, he feared he would laugh at Willy’s tasteless remarks, and he couldn’t give the red-head the satisfaction. “What is it you’re here for, Willy?” He hadn’t expected to see any of his old shipmates until spring. Mostly because he’d deliberately stayed away from the dockyards.

Willy straightened up and leaned out over the bar, grinning that wicked, mad grin of his as he looked down on Sorren. Sorren didn’t like the way it made him look like the serval cat who’d caught the crow.

At that moment, Muzu emerged from his burrowing. He gave a happy caw at the sight of Willy, and waddled over to say hello, ignoring the scowl of red indignation Sorren gave him. Muzu was _his_ partner, _his_ soul bond, yet there he was primping and preening for the red-headed youth, as if he was a lady crow looking to feather a nest. Willy looked mildly uncomfortable as the large black bird flew up to perch on his arm, shying his face away from the sudden large, sharp beak pointed at his eyes. Sorren felt that slight burn of jealousy he always felt when Muzu played nice to anyone else - but especially Willy. “Ah -think your momma bird will let you come out and play?” Willy asked the crow.

Muzu liked to be talked to, and he opened his mouth to voice a long reply. Willy just bobbed his head and tried to catch his two-legger’s eye to call for help. Sorren straightened up, abandoning the meager warmth and went to Willy’s rescue. He held out an arm, and gave a stern look to Muzu, who fluttered to the halfborn without complaint. He lifted a finger to ruffle the black chest feathers.

Relaxing, Willy leaned against the side of the stall, watching Sorren’s interaction with the bird. Sorren eyed him. Willy had the look of a yearling colt - he was all legs and bravado, with no sense to know what to do with either of them. He was a bit broader since Sorren had seen him a few months back, and the patch of red fuzz he called a beard was starting to fill out more. His brown eyes gleamed as he spoke now. “I gots a job for ye, ‘feathers. Interested?”

Sorren gritted his teeth at the jibe, but said nothing. His hungry look was all the answer Willy needed - if the state of his sleeping quarters weren’t enough clue of that. Sorren was down to his last baubles. He’d blown most of his seapay on winter clothes, and now was beginning to wonder if he wouldn’t have to eat them to make it through to his next odd job.

“What type of job?”

“The type I know you’re good at.”

Sorren bristled. So that’s what he came for. He needed a thief, and a good one at that, otherwise he’d do it himself. He’d given up on thieving when he’d taken up sailing. Trading one life of danger for another - albeit one that ran less of a risk of hanging, and far away from the twisted seeker who ran the thieves of Silverport. She’d laughed when he’d paid off his debts and promised him that he’d come crawling back to her someday. Sorren was determined to see it the other way around.

What would Willy do if he refused his job? Would he rat on him to the captain? No, Sorren couldn’t see Willy doing that. They might not have liked each other, but they were both Silverport guttersnipes. There was something of an unspoken code there - one didn’t drag their dirty laundry before the noble public to deal with. That said, Willy was more then cpaable of handling the laundry himself.

Willy was master and commander of the ship’s boys and girls aboard their ship. Well, the captain was, but only on paper. He so rarely dealt with the lowest of crew members, he may as well have been a formless deity to them that worked the lower decks. And Willy was undisputed master of those lower decks; king over the snot-nosed urchins; lord of the pimple-ridden adolescents; undisputed master over a land of tar-soaked wood, bilge water lakes, and rolling mountains of cord and rope. It wasn’t much of a domain, by any account, but when you found yourself subject in it you were as beholden to it’s leader as any of the toadys who clung to his coat tails. Sometimes that meant sucking it up and breaking a few laws.

“What do you need done?”

Willy’s face looked like it was about two seconds from breaking, his grin was so wide. He lifted a finger and beckoned to the halfborn. “Follow me.”

~

“A treasure?” Sorren asked, incredulous. He was currently following in Willy’s footsteps, the packed snow crunching underfoot. So far things had been surprisingly unremarkable. Willy and he wound their way through the narrow streets, weaving in and out of the last few stragglers as they rushed to get home before the threatening snow descended. Despite the lack of moon or stars, hidden as they were behind the snowclouds, the streets were awash with light. Lanterns were strung out between houses and shops, in every color and style imaginable, in preparation for the Festival of Lights. In the air was a scent of snow and woodsmoke, a touch of cinnamon carrying on the cold breeze. Muzu bounced on his shoulder, torn between the need to share the halfborn’s warmth and the need to look at all the _shininess_. For Silverport was never so shiny as when it was Yuletide. He was convinced the city only existed for this holiday. It seemed to come alive whenever the Festival of Lights loomed closer, the pubs and taverns overflowing with land-bound sailors, their pockets bursting with their seapay - and with them came the thieves and con artists looking to lighten their load.

Sorren drew his cloak closer, picking up his heels so he might keep pace inside Willy’s shadow. The snow muffled sound too much for Sorren’s liking -and the bright lights were distracting and glaring for the halfborn, who would’ve preferred to take a more inconspicuous route. The street felt oddly deserted. It wasn’t that late surely? He glanced over his shoulder, without thinking. No one was there, not even an alley serval.

He crashed into Willy’s back, nearly falling backwards into the snows.

“Gilliwhigs, pinfeathers - stop being so jumpy.”

“Where is everyone?” Sorren asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice. His eye was caught by the stone liger statues, the sweeping colonnades, fountains frozen in place, all bedecked in ribbons and lights. Lantern light bounced off the glass greenhouses that those with the means used to trap tiny pieces of summer. Even the smell was strange - Sorren suddenly realized he couldn’t smell the pungent odor of fish and tar that hung over the docks and market place. This part of town was not for the likes of Willy and him - at least not in the open like this. Where were the dire wolf patrols to round up the riff raff and toss them back into the gutter they belonged in?

“At the Festival I should hope. It’s Yuletide Eve.”

Sorren jerked. “Tonight?” Of course, he should have realized. He’d lost track of the dates, his attention being drawn elsewhere. The Festival had never much interested him - he didn’t care for crowds of people. He tended to have bad reactions to them. Probably best he’d forgotten, otherwise he would’ve felt obligated to buy Muzu a cheese puff for Yuletide.

“Remind me to get you a calender book for Yuletide next year. You know they make ones with little bunny jackalopes drawn in the corners now.”

Willy resumed walking, and Sorren struggled to keep pace with the long legged youth. “So… this treasure you mentioned?” Keeping Willy on topic was like herding servals.

“Ack! A tragedy that. You see my great granddad was a fearsome explorer, and he happened to find a priceless treasure on one of his expeditions. He fought hard and fierce to claim it, but it was stolen, never to be seen again. Well, except it was seen again. It turned up in the collection of some upper crust waffler a few years later. It was locked up tight for years, but the waffler’s son finally up and croaked and the treasure changed owners. It was moved just this month.” Willy thumped his chest. “And it’s the duty of the Amadeus family to restore our honor by liberating said treasure from their clutches. You catch my line, pinfeathers?”

“Aye, I catch it. So you need me to steal -”

“Ah-ah! _Liberate._ ”

“- _‘liberate’_ this treasure from it’s current owner.”

“Without being caught preferably.”

“Preferably.”

“Pretty and smart.” Willy gave him a broad wink. Willy wasn’t half bad himself, at least in terms of smarts. He’d obviously done a bit of research and determined that Yuletide Eve was the best time to strike. A time of peace, and goodwill, and festivities. It was downright devious.

“How long have you been planning this?”

Willy stuck his hands in his pockets and mulled the question over.“Oh, ‘bout a month. I got a gig as a gardener and scoped out the place. Before I was fired for killing some purple flower thing. I never was good at plants.”

Sorren raised an eyebrow at that. Willy wasn’t one for well-thought out plans. He was… mildly impressed. “Must be some treasure to have you go to such lengths.”

“You could say that, yes.”

Sorren crossed his arms. “And I’m presumably to be given a cut of this great treasure.”

“Cut?” Willy stumbled a bit over his words. “Must it always be about monetary gain? What about the warm fuzziwhumples what come with helping out a dear friend at Yuletide?” He smiled, all hopeful and rosy-cheeked, and fluttering eyelashes. It was odd, Sorren thought, that Willy didn’t have sweetheart. All the other sailors their age had one, or two in some cases, and Willy had more charm than a barrel full of baby otterlings. His smile alone could melt any number of hearts. Unfortunately for Willy, Sorren had developed a strong immunity to charm, and his heart was carved out of obsidian.

“With you Willy, it’s always about monetary gain. I doubt you’ve ever been motivated to do anything worthwhile in your entire life that didn’t involve a bauble tossed your way,” Sorren crossed his arms and dueled the saccharine grin with a stern frown. The red-haired youth pouted at the halfborn. It was a real full-blown pout too, but Sorren didn’t sway. Willy’s eye began to twitch from the strain of holding firm against the onslaught. Sorren lowered his eyebrows.

“Argh!” Willy crumbled like a Yuletide cookie and looked away, bowing to Sorren’s superior scowling skills. “Fine. I give - just stop pouting at me. Truth is - you’re wrong about me pinfeathers. The treasure’s not really for me, so I can’t exactly go splittin’ it with ye.”

“Oh?” Curiosity and annoyance warred inside of Sorren. So Willy was working for a client it seemed, perhaps even the Seekers. And obviously the thought that Sorren might want compensation for taking on this dangerous mission had never entered his head. _Walk away Sorren. Just. Walk away._ “Be honest with me - were you planning on paying me at all?” _Damn it - why am I not walking away?_

“O’ course, I was! And I’m offering something far more valuable then any treasure.” Sorren found that a little hard to believe. “I’m offering you me.”

Sorren turned around to leave.

“Now hold to, pinfeathers! Hear me out! You don’t keep friends - don’t go in for the warm fuzziwhumples. I get that, but friends - even one’s you don’t like - are mighty important.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about patronage, dear son.” Willy smoothed his knuckles over his lapel, looking for all the world like a very smug serval in the act of preening. “I’m speaking of sponsors and sheet anchors.”

Sorren’s scowl slipped at that, and Willy caught it. All the other ship’s boys and girls, the inexperienced who had yet to earn their years before the mast, were sponsored by a sheet anchor; an older sailor or officer, who looked out for their well being and taught them the ropes. Sorren had no such mentor. He’d been given to the cook’s keeping, an old sot who was always bad tempered unless he was drunk. He had no patience for Sorren; he was just a babysitter to ensure the halfborn stayed out of trouble. Instead of learning anything that might advance a career in seafaring, Sorren spent most of his time salvaging the burnt slop he claimed to be food. The halfborn had suffered no end of contempt and jeers from his peers. Their cries of ‘Roast the bird!’ rang in his ears, and left dazzling spots of red flashing behind his eyes.

“Allies are sort of important in the profession you’ve chosen, mate.” Sorren shook himself as Willy started talking again. “Sailors what are disliked - well, they might as well be ballast. No one to secure their lifeline. First storm as blows up, and well… what happens to ballast.” Willy took a finger and with it carved a big smile across his throat. “But food’s been considerably better since you showed up, so it’s in my best interest to keep ye around. And the only way I see to doing that is to sponsor ye myself!”

Sorren’s heart gave a little leap of excitement. “Can you do that?”

“I don’t see why not. Captain don’t care what we get up to in our freetime. I’ll teach you what Crane learned me. Even got a book on all the sails and everything. But in return - you do this one little favor for me, eh?”

Sorren mulled it over in his head. In his time aboard the ship he had discovered a very rigid hierarchy that relied as much on a sailor’s skill as it did on the favor he could curry from higher-ups. Willy wasn’t far up the ladder, it was true, but he was a good deal higher then Sorren. He had one of the most experienced sheet anchors, the respect of all the ship’s boys and girls, and the trust of his gun crew. And there was more. A sharpness Sorren saw in his eyes, underneath the gentle smiles and off-color jokes - a sharpness that betrayed a man who would not settle for the life of an ordinary seaman. The offer might very well be worth his weight in gold longterm. He’d be a fool to say no.

Urgh - but why did it have to be Willy? He was loud, he was bawdy, and always calling him stupid names. Would he really be able to teach Sorren anything? Enough to get him work as an ordinary seaman? Sorren’s eyes, red and blue met Willy’s common brown, trying to read it’s sincerity. Most people shied from the ice-fire gaze, but not Willy. He met them eagerly, and fluttered his lashes playfully.

“Two conditions. I want that book first thing in the morning.”

“Done. And the second?”

“Stop calling me ‘pinfeathers’.”

Willy frowned. “Aw, but it fits ye so perfectly! What should I call ye then?”

“Just Sorren, is fine.” Willy shrugged, muttering something about how it lacked imagination.

“Alright.” The red-haired sailor spat in his palm. He held the dripping hand out to Sorren. With a sigh of _I’m going to regret this,_ Sorren bespat his own palm and took hold of the proffered hand. Willy’s palm was rough and calloused. He jerked Sorren’s arm vigorously - it felt like he was trying to yank the halfborn’s arm clean out of it’s socket.

Sorren pulled free. “Can we just get this done quickly? I’m freezing my tailfeathers off standing out here.”

Willy made a choking noise. “Sorren! You made a funny!” The halfborn glared at him. Muzu cackled loudly. He hunched his shoulders to interrupt the crow’s grating laughter.

“Where is this place, anyway?” Sorren grimaced, shaking his hand free of the cold spittle.

Willy jerked his head in the direction of a large pink archway, warded by a fence of spiked iron. Stone griffins flanked the entrance, their faces contorted into fierce expressions that stood in stark contrast to the delicate flowers carved into the pink stone.

Sorren looked at Willy. “These are the Amblasory Gardens.”

“Yup.”

“We’re robbing… a public garden.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“In… winter.”

Willy nodded. _Ancient of Shadows, I beseech you - give me the power to wipe that smug look off his face._ If she heard, the Ancient of Shadows did nothing but laugh. Sorren decided it was best not to question it further. Who gave a penny bauble if Willy’s treasure was a sunflower or a jewel encrusted trowel. He was getting his book either way.

“C’mon!” Willy took off towards the entrance.

“What are you doing! You can’t just waltz in there! What about your footprints?”

Willy stopped in his tracks, one foot raised precariously over the new fallen snow. Sorren heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “We’ll have to get through the main gates somehow.” He gestured. “The snow there is trampled. It’ll be harder to pick out an individual set of prints.” Sorren turned his attention to the crow balanced on his arm. “Muzu, check that the coast is clear.” With a caw, the crow fluttered up and over their heads. Sorren tracked his progress through the sky with his eyes.

The crow gave no immediate alert, so Sorren stepped up to the gate, careful to place his boots in the icy footprints of that morning’s passersby. The gates were shut tight, a heavy padlock holding them firmly together.

In one swift movement Sorren leapt up onto the top of the gate. Avoiding the spikes, he perched upon it, a dark, hunched bird surveying his domain. He looked out over what he could see of the garden, which resembled something more akin to a cultivated forest; trees marching by in domesticated rows along open, well-kept lawns. The sharp scent of pine hung heavy in the air. Beyond the archway lay a winding path escorted by a parade of hedges iced over. The landscape looked as if a confectioner had had a field day; greenhouses crafted of delicate sugar squares, held together with dark chocolate, beside which fondant statues stood at rigid attention, under the light of gumdrop lanterns, and all sprinkled with sugar. It took Sorren a moment to realize what was making him feel off about the scene. It was quiet, the snow muffling every sigh and scent. It didn’t feel _wrong_ , per say… just off-putting. Silverport was never this quiet.

Beneath the scent of pine drifted another; the acrid burn of woodsmoke. He squinted at the sky above the greenhouses where tendrils of smoke curled up out of vents.

A metal creak, and the gate moved out from under him. Sorren nearly toppled over in panic, pure instinct alone keeping him gripping the cold iron tightly. He looked down to see Willy pushing through the gate. Sorren had to fight to get his heart rate back down, sucking in a breath of cold air that seared his lungs. He gave Willy a curious look. The red-head held up a key, and grinned. Hmmpf. Maybe Willy would be worth his salt as a thief yet.

Sorren hopped down as Willy stepped through the gate. The halfborn closed his eyes and reached out along the bond he shared with Muzu, tugging his own consciousness into the crow’s, reading what he saw and felt. A watchman stood on a corner around the street, swaying from the effects of consuming too much holiday cheer. Across a roof overlooking the park, a lone serval stalked. Inside the Amblasory gardens a few dozen tiny rune dragons roosted in a large holly tree. On the other side of the large park a carriage house stood. A light was on inside, and the shuffling of sleipnir as they settled in for the night reached the bird’s ears as he soared over it.

Sorren opened his eyes again, and looked over at Willy as the young sailor relocked the gate behind them. “There’s someone in the carriage house, and there’s smoke coming from the greenhouses.”

Willy was nodding. “That’ll be the hostlers in the carriage house. The greenhouses are locked this time of night - no one gets in or out without the proper key. They keep stoves running inside each of ‘em all winter.”

“So, the treasure?”

“Just follow me Sorren. I got a map o’ this place up in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m like a treasure map! And you’re -”

“Shhssh!” Sorren slapped a hand over Willy’s mouth. “There’s roosting flocks of runes in these trees. If you startle them into flight, we’ll be lost.” Sorren took his hand away, leaving behind an oddly compliant silence. Willy nodded, and gestured for Sorren to follow him down the path.

Keep an eye on the carriage house, Sorren silently relayed to Muzu. He felt the crow settle down on the the bare branches of a tree that overhung the building. Refocusing onto his own body, Sorren hurried to keep pace with the sailor.

The two thieves slunk through the snow-kissed gardens on silent feet, the halfborn placing each step inside of Willy’s larger footprint, among the snow trampled paths. Willy wove through the meandering trails with a purposeful air, past elegant fountains festooned in frost. Lanterns bobbed in the light wind, painting the snow delicate shades of pink, green, orange and blue. Despite the nerve-wracking silence it was almost… nice.

The Amblasory Gardens might be a public space, but this part of Silverport was reserved only for the rich - it was rare that Sorren would get to see it. He could imagine nobles walking hand in hand around the maze-like array, ducking behind a hedge to find a tiny bench snuggled among rose bushes, out of sight from unwanted eyes. Seemed an odd choice to Sorren - he would not want to be in a small space encircled with thorns. But it was winter now, and the roses had retreated deep into themselves, and left the lover’s alcoves laid bare and vulnerable.

Willy led him past the huge holly tree Muzu had seen, which had bedecked it’s self in ruby-red drops for the winter, a grand old matriarch. Looking close, Sorren could see the silhouettes of her attending rune dragons sleeping tucked between the thorny leaves. The red-haired youth stepped beneath the holly’s boughs and pointed. Sorren followed the gesture. Beyond the holly sat the courtyard of the carriage house, but it was the greenhouse that sat behind it that Willy was pointing to. It was huge, larger then any of the other houses they had passed. A massive dome of glass sat atop it’s middle, like a golden bubble sat atop a pool of tar. It lit an inlaid design of stained glass depicting a sailing ship approaching the lighthouse of Silverport. Through the smoky glass Sorren could see a deep green, pressing against all sides from inside. Unlike the other greenhouses it was not on the main path, but sat behind a stone wall, the entrance hidden by a grove of landscaped pine. The only way Sorren could see to it would be to scale the low wall around the carriage house and cross the courtyard. Easy enough.

As they watched, a door to the stables opened, spilling light out into the blue snowscape. Willy and Sorren shrunk back into the shadow of the holly. It’s pointed leaves pricked the back of Sorren’s neck. A woman strode out of the house, rubbing her hands together. The two watched closely as she went to check on the sleipnir stalled around the courtyard.

“Damn,” Willy swore under his breath. “Now what? We can’t just sit here and wait in this clicketin’ cold.” He rubbed his arms to warm them. Sorren pushed his own discomfort aside to focus on the carriage house itself, specifically on the bare oak that Muzu was perched in, noting how it’s bare branches lay across the roof.

“So we shan’t.” When Willy looked at him, Sorren jerked his head over towards the tall oak by the carriage house. “Over the roof.” That was all the words he needed to make Willy’s eyes light up with mischief.

With minced steps they crossed the open ground between the holly and the wall, ducking down behind it. Sorren took the lead now, slinking through the snow with practiced stealth. He winced each time the snow creaked beneath his boots, fearful that one of the animals might hear it and alert the hostler.

Someone had erected a stone bench at the base of their chosen ascension. No doubt it was a picaresque sitting area in spring, shady and cool. Ancients bless the rich and their fat flanks. The perfect seat for tired laurels, was also a perfect stepping stool for their burglary. Sorren stepped carefully on top of the icy stone, and used that to vault himself onto a low hanging limb. _It’s almost too easy._ With the grace of a squirrel he shuffled up to the trunk.

Willy eyed the leap with a bit more trepidation. Sorren silently urged him to hurry it up. He looked up to track where the hostler had gone. In that moment Willy took a running leap onto the bench, and then launched himself at the branch. He did not account for the ice. Sorren’s gaze snapped back to the red-haired youth just as his foot slipped out from under him. His chest hit the tree branch hard, knocking the wind out of him. _“Oof!”_ Somehow he managed to hold on, his legs flailing wildly in the air. If they weren’t trying to be stealthy, Sorren might have laughed at the sight.

The halfborn grabbed hold of Willy’s coat and hauled the heavy sailor up onto the branch. The concerned nicker of a sleipnir drifted over to them, giving Sorren pause. He strained to hear, but the only other sound was the soft tinkling of snowflakes hitting the blanket of white all around them. He hadn’t realized it had begun snowing. Even the wind fell still, as if holding it’s breath.

When he was sure Willy had his feet under him, the halfborn started to climb. The bark was rough, the snow biting and slick, but his fingers were so numb with cold he scarcely noticed. It felt good to climb, to think about each place his hands and feet had to go, and nothing else. There was only the next handhold, the exertion of pulling himself further upward, of testing his weight. It left no room for other thoughts, more troubling thoughts; of the magic that was constantly pressing on him from the inside, wanting to burst out at the slightest emotion, a fragile glass case over a throbbing, glowing jungle; allowing him a moment of clear focus.

The roof came into view and Sorren paused, clinging to the branches. He looked down to see Willy close below him. A thin layer of new snow lay over the roof’s tiles. Cautiously, Sorren leaned forward, abandoning his grip on the branch to drop softly onto the sloped roof of the carriage house. There was a soft thumping of dislodged snow hitting the earth, then again, the silence.

He looked back up to find Willy scooting out along the branch he’d just left. He swung down with a flourish, no doubt relishing the chance to prove what skills he’d gained running through the ship’s rigging. “I got it.”

There was a sharp crack, and Sorren’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of Willy plummeting. He hit the roof with a sick thud. Sorren had to choke back a cry as he lunged forward to stop his body from rolling off the roof. That was all he needed at this point.

Willy groaned, struggling up into a crouch. “Didn’t got it.” Sorren’s relief at his being alright was quickly replaced with annoyance when he heard Muzu caw an alarm.

“You idiot!” Sorren hissed at him. He heard the creak of a door opening. The crow came diving over the roof, his wing tips brushing Sorren’s cheek in reassurance, before he plunged down into the courtyard.

They were exposed out here. They had to find a hiding place, even a shadow would do. Grabbing Willy he hauled the two of them against the side of a gable, slamming Willy into the roof’s crease with perhaps more force then was necessary. The halfborn braced his feet against the gutter, leaving his heels hanging out over the open air. There was hardly enough room for one person in this tight spot, let alone two. He felt sure some part of his was visible. _Oh Ancient of Shadows, see fit to cast your mantle over us, I beg you._ He could hear the crunch of snow, each step a shattering of glass in this soft quiet. If they should think to look up…

“Oy - what’s this?” Sorren waited for a shout of alarm. None came. He felt Muzu in his mind, sending a soothing wave. He blinked his eyes and refocused his self, pulling his consciousness into the bird’s with a snap. It had taken him and Muzu at least a year of practice before this trick had began to come naturally.

At first, there was only darkness. Then the crow cracked an eyelid to allow Sorren sight. A giant stood before him, snow falling around the looming figure. He was on his back, black feet curled skyward, at the same time he felt them balanced precariously on the rooftop. A wave of vertigo took him by surprise - he’d never tried this trading of senses while Muzu was in this position, only when the bird was resting, or flying. He began to waver, trying to fit his body to the position his eyes told him he should be in. His head tipped back into open air, and his stomach dropped. His control spiraled, magic throbbing at his temples. He had to catch himself. He had to _fly…_

A strong hand lashed out to wrap itself in his collar, jerking him back. His attention snapped back into Muzu’s sight. The figure above him was bending closer to examine him. With a sudden caw Muzu flipped upright and flew at the looming face, screeching insults. The sudden shift ripped Sorren’s consciousness back into his own body with a wave of nausea.

Coming to, Sorren found himself mashed uncomfortably against Willy, his heart hammering like a bird against his ribs. “Don’t ye think ye should ask me out to dinner afore we go getting all cozy like this?” Willy chuckled above his ear.

And well, Sorren had to give him that one, but only because smacking him in that moment would’ve given away their position. He glanced over his shoulder to see the hostler tramping out after Muzu. This was going far worse then he could’ve imagined. As soon as the hostler turned around to return to the main house, they’d have perfect view of the two thieves huddled in the crook of the roof. They had to hide, and fast. _The window,_ Sorren thought, gazing behind Willy at the darkened patch of glass.

It was a risk, but at this point anything would be a risk.

Sorren held a finger to his lips to signal Willy to keep any further thoughts to himself. Perching on his toes, the halfborn leaned down, running a hand down his trouser leg and into his boot. His fingers brushed cold metal. Sorren drew out the flat metal piece, Willy staring down curiously at these strange acrobatics. He might have given up on thievery, but didn’t mean he’d given up lock-picking.

Carefully, balancing like a stone gargoyle rune on the gutters, Sorren slid along them, inching towards it’s window. He reached with the metal pick and probed along the edge. The thin sliver of metal slid in between glass and frame. The latch was finicky, old and not often used. It required all his concentration to persuade it’s lifting up, and to ignore the relative closeness of Willy’s crotch to his face. He just prayed Willy would avoid temptation and keep his fat mouth shut.

Willy sniffed loudly. “Ob’s bobs, you reek.”

 _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._ “You’re no bed of rose petals, yourself,” Sorren growled, noting as he did so that Willy in fact smelled of ocean salt and ginger beer.

Finally the latch came free, and the window popped loose. Sorren shoved it inward and immediately froze, listening for any sign that they might be on the verge of discovery. Inside the room was dark and the emptiness of it pressed on him. Sorren relaxed and began to ease himself inside…

…when Willy lost his footing and fell inward, Sorren tumbling in after him.

 _And this is why I work_ alone. Sorren had landed awkwardly across Willy’s chest. How was it possible that the red-head could be so clumsy? He was certainly light enough on his feet up in the rigging.

Sorren peeled himself off the flattened sailor, shooting a glare down at him. The red-haired youth effected a look of apology. “Fancy meeting you here, sailor.” Sorren continued his glaring assault. “If it’s any consolation - you’ve got the softest elbows I’ve ever had the pleasure of having jammed into my solar plexus.”

Willy wasn’t removing himself with nearly the amount of rapidity Sorren required. He shoved the sailor away from him and stood, brushing snow from his coat with as much dignity as he could muster, taking the moment to survey the room. It was a storage room by the looks of it. Tarps were thrown haphazardly over furniture, making it look like a parade of ghosts queuing up for the Grave Keeper’s attendance. A pyramid of ceramic pots had been erected in one corner, and a shelf was covered with old and broken tack.

He poked around, searching the shelves for anything useful. Finding nothing Sorren settled back under the window. Willy joined him, sitting tailor-style. “I guess we’ll wait here until Muzu gives the all clear.”

“At least we’re out of the wind,” Willy offered, seeing Sorren drawing his arms around himself to keep warm. By now a drafty stable and a moth eaten blanket seemed like distant luxuries. The halfborn grimaced. “Damn Sorren, you keep that scowlin’ up, and your face will stick that way.”

“Considering how friggin’ cold it is, I wouldn’t be bloody surprised if it did,” the halfborn snarled viciously. Willy reeled back from the ferocity in his voice. “For all we know your chaffing treasure isn’t even there!”

But Willy was shaking his head. “It’s there alright. And what do you care? You still get your book either way.” He sat back. Sorren watched from the corner of his eye as Willy fished an old bauble from his pocket, and began to roll it between his fingers. It rolled and bounced across the back of his knuckles as if it were under a spell.

“What’s so important about this damn thing that it couldn’t wait until spring?”

The bauble paused in it’s dance, hovering between Willy’s forefinger and thumb. Sorren tried to remember when he’d ever seen Willy at a loss for words. “Well I’ve… a friend ‘o mine I’ve been meaning to get a Yuletide gift for.”

“A friend.”

“A… special friend.”

And there it was. Sorren snorted. “A bit late to wrap it, don’t you think? This is why I’m out here freezing my bits off? Because you want to impress some stuck up, ice-hearted cull?”

Willy rolled his eyes. “Ye don’t know the half of it. You’d think I’d be home free with sommat shiny, but this ain’t no common cully.”

“Why should you even care?” Sorren said. “There’s plenty of hearts to be won on the street at far less trouble.”

Willy scrunched his nose. “I take it ye ain’t at all the romantic type, Sorren.”

“Small favors,” he grunted. “If they’re forcing you to get a treasure to win their favor, it’s hardly romantic, Willy. That’s solicitation.”

“No, it’s not. It’s like one of those oldey-time Nors, who slayed drakes and brought the severed head back to their ladylove to prove their devotion. It’s like that.”

Sorren snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh yes - because everyone likes to be wooed while standing over a giant bloody head.” He peeked over the rim of the window sill, searching the skies for Muzu.

“Right?!” The youth heaved a lovelorn sigh. Sorren looked at him, and shook his head. Sometimes he was just too silly for words. Willy pressed on. “I’d settle for a friendly glance or two. Their’s is not a smile to be won with trinkets and sweet nothings. It can only be won by great and impressive deeds - and the shiny things what come from those deeds.”

“Did you just quote something?”

“No. Maybe.”

Damn it, Sorren wanted to be annoyed with the great lout. Why did he have to go and be so pathetic? He wanted to tell him he was an idiot. Going to all this trouble, to win a treasure, for nothing more than a smile of all things?

“For all this trouble, it better merit a good deal more than that.” As he spoke, Muzu reached out to him mentally. He was perched again in the tree. The hostler had gone back inside to settle the sleipnir.

“I’m sure of it.”

One could never be sure of anything, but if it got him out from under the cook’s thumb, he supposed it was worth it. What Willy did with his heart was no concern of his; if he wanted to put it in the hands of someone who demanded a treasure for theirs so be it.

Muzu’s mind brushed against his own; relaxed, calm. The coast was clear. Sorren waited a few more heartbeats to be sure, looking out over the silent snowscape dotted with lanterns. Their light was exceptionally weak in the open night, but it was steady, defiant of the oppressive darkness all around them.

“Sorren?”

“Let’s go.”

The two of them slipped out the window. Sorren gave Willy a boost up onto the tip of the roof. The sailor held a hand down. Sorren grasped it and was pulled up, onto the top of the carriage house. They perched there, two dark corbies in a swirl of snowflakes. They could see the city rising up out of a sea of pine; behemoths of wood and stone and tile, their lights twinkling like a million deep sea fishes, hemmed in their little ocean. For a moment it felt as if they were the only ones in the whole world - he, Willy, and Muzu, adrift on a sea of stars.

They poured down the far side of the roof, Willy surprisingly agile on the icy tiles. The greenhouse beckoned warmly before them, a ship of light in a sea of dark. Overhead, Muzu cawed triumphantly, swooping towards their destination.

The two hopped onto the wall surrounding the greenhouse, and from there crawled down a trellis that had been propped up against the wall. Sorren and Willy hurried to the door. As Willy had said the building was locked up tight.

Sorren fished out his pick again. The lock was simple, but the cold made his fingers numb. It felt like he was trying to thread a needle with sausages for fingers. A harsh cry from Muzu made Willy look up. The crow’s call had a sense of urgency about it. “Someone’s coming,” Sorren hissed.

“Well, I don’t know what the hell you expect me to do about it!” Willy hopped from foot to foot, nerves making him excitable. Sorren growled deep in his throat. “Alright, alright. Keep your bloody feathers on.” Willy stepped away from Sorren and jogged to the wall.

Sorren breathed on his hands and rubbed them together to get some warmth in them, but they still tingled as if they were made of stinging nettles. He fumbled his pick, nearly dropping it into the snow. Daggers of anxiety stabbed into his gut. _Relax,_ he told himself. _Focus on what’s in front of you._

How could he focus on the pick when his heart was beating so loud in his throat. What would happen if they were caught? Where was Willy anyway?

He strained in the silence to hear something. He was getting nowhere at this rate. With a growl he shoved his trembling hands into his arm pits and turned to see where the other had gone. Willy was no where to be seen, but his tracks led off toward the carriage house.

His instincts told him he had to get in the greenhouse, and quick before he was frozen as stiff as one of the statues in this place. He could find the treasure himself and meet up with Willy afterward. If the other youth wasn’t caught or frozen himself.

He stalked off after Willy’s tracks, muttering darkly.

Suddenly the night exploded behind him. Sorren spun and leapt back holding the pick out as if it were a sword to ward off attack. The sky was filled with a flurry of rune dragons startled from slumber. Their wings beat against the air nosily and hooted and screeched their displeasure. They were in for it now. His belly flared with magic - it ripped through his body like lightning, pushing against his scapula.

Before he could react Willy came running into sight. He grabbed Sorren’s wrist, ignoring the brandished pick. “Okay, in my defense, the layout of this place is really confusing.”

“What did you do?” Sorren hissed as Willy tugged him alongside the greenhouse.

“There was a dire wolf - nearly saw me - so I threw a pot to distract him ya know? I might have hit the holly tree. But hey I got away without his noticing!”

Sorren snarled in anger. “We need to get out of here.”

“No! Please,” Willy caught his sleeve and tugged weakly. Sorren paused to look at him. Willy was a good deal larger than he - if the red-haired youth so wished he could easily have dragged the halfborn wherever he chose. Willy dropped his arm, looking abashed. “We can hide in the greenhouse.”

“My fingers are frozen! What do you want me to do? Bash open the place with my skull?!”

Willy’s eyes went wide, and a pang rang in Sorren’s heart. He looked like a puppy who’d just been struck and couldn’t fathom why. _I don’t care. I don’t care. I_ don’t.

“ _Ffffffffffff_ -ine!”

“I knew you were a romantic soul!” Willy practically sang as he ran towards the greenhouse, Sorren in tow, and thinking rather unromantic thoughts directed at everyone and everything. _Friggin’ - idiot - big - dumb - why am I doing this - stupid-_

Sorren set to work on the lock, Willy bouncing on his toes beside him. Muzu tried to reach along their link, but Sorren pushed him away. He could have no distractions. He took a shaky breath, letting the cold piece his lungs with a thousand sharp daggers.

The silence was shattered. Runes screeched overhead. A dire was barking. A light was on in the carriage house. The city outside hummed with carolers coming home late from the festival. The tumblers of the lock sounded like falling rocks in his head, his heart a chorus of thunder. The noise in his head was chaotic, and he could feel the magic unfolding, alarmed, and awake. Maybe he _could_ smash through the glass..

“Sorren, I could kiss you for this!” Sorren was jerked out of his concentration momentarily, breaking the wave of magic. “If I wasn’t worried my lips would stick to your icy demeanor,” Willy added. The halfborn flushed in annoyance, and redoubled his efforts on the lock. Something in him desperately wanted show Willy he could do this, and then rub his smug face in it.

The lock finally clicked open. Willy pushed the two of them inside, out of sight, and out of the cold. A wave of warmth rolled over them. Sorren shut the door behind them, the sense of relief making him nearly giddy. They’d done it. Well, nearly. They’d found a warm hiding place at least. He turned and walked into the heart of summer.

The greenhouse was made up of a series of glass rooms. A stove sat in the center of this first room, maintaining the toasty temperature inside. A Fire Rune Dragon curled up in the embers, opened a bleary eye at the sudden blast of cold entering it’s domain. He shot the two intruders a glare, before snuggling deeper into the hot coals and releasing a smoky sigh.

The sides of the room were grown over with creeping vines, and plump azaleas. Sorren breathed in deeply, his lungs shedding the layer of frost that had tightened them. The perfume of blossoms and humid dirt hung in the air, touched by a hint of sweet, pungent decay. His body tingled all over as the cold melted off his skin. The warm air caressing his face, wiping away the frost from his eyelashes. Now this was the type of place one could overwinter in, he decided.

Just as he was settling in, Willy grabbed his hand and began tugging him along the path. Willy’s palm was delightfully warm against his numb fingers, Sorren didn’t even think to pull away. Raw tingles shot up his arm as feeling slowly seeped back into the frozen appendages.

The greenhouse was truly expansive. The next room had been dug out of the earth to accommodate a collection of massive rhododendrons and banyan trees, their branches dripping down to the earth, to form pillars. Massive orange and golden flowers the size of Sorren’s head, spilled out of hanging containers. It was as if the two of them had stepped into an artist’s rendering, colors running together as if the painter had dashed his brush against the glass. His head swam with the sight of it all, his brain protesting this barrage of color and scent after so much winterdark.

Willy led him deeper into the glass mansion, towards the very center. At the heart lay a room; huge and dark, the dome of the greenhouse stretching high above them. Sorren felt certain they had left Silverport behind, and walked into some ancient forest. The vegetation was so thick, and the night outside so dark, he could no longer see the garden outside the glass. They could be deep beneath the ocean for all he knew, walking the cultivated gardens of the Leviathan’s Songstress. The domed roof overhead was the only clear indication that they were indoors, and even that was difficult to discern. A fountain, it’s sides a riddle of mosaics, sat amid the artificial jungle, gurgling happily. It’s center was occupied by a cherubic figure playing a harp, surrounded by a group of otterlings - an ancient water spirit of some kind, now frozen forever in marble. Massive trees ringed the fountain’s square, their branches having been painstakingly woven into twisted knots and swoops, they soared and dove overhead. Flowers grafted onto their papery bark burst in gushing wounds of red, violet, orange and pink.

Hanging from the branches were more then a dozen odd shapes, that Sorren took to be giant fruits. He squinted, trying to determine what they were, but the close knit trees blocked out the faint light, leaving only the warm glow from the previous room to light their steps.

A sudden chill ran up Sorren’s spine as Willy dropped his hand and moved away from him. “Willy?”

“Fifty years ago, my grandfather went into the Endless Forest around Alabaster in order to find the greatest of woods with which to build his fleet. Instead he discovered one of the forest’s greatest treasures.” Willy’s voice had taken on a low, sonorous tone. A storyteller’s voice. “In the darkest corner of the woods, past the den of a great and fearsome ursa, and across the Mouthless River of-”

“How did you know this was even here?” Sorren interrupted him.

Willy’s voice slipped back into his usual sea cant, as he scowled. “It was in the bleedin’ papers. They announce all the garden’s latest acquirements. Glitches Sorren - read something other then a dusty history book for once in your life.” Sorren couldn’t argue with that.

Willy went on. “Anywho, Granddaddy Amadeus took the treasure for himself. Nearly died getting it out o’ there. The forest does not give up it’s treasures quite so easily.” Willy drew a bauble from his pocket, tossed and caught it. “He kept it aboard his ship, showing it off from town to town. And he lost it all… on account of this.” He showed Sorren the bauble.

Willy passed the bauble around his fingers. “A conman came to him and made him a bet. That he could beat him in a race across the sea. Well, there’s not an Amadeus alive can resist a challenge, so Granddaddy took it. His ship was the fastest of her breed, and she tore through the waves like a dhol’kai after a jackalope, leaving their rival’s ship in her foam. But, the man who made the bet was great enough a trickster to be an apprentice of Dolos himself - for he stowed away on Grandaddy’s ship. At the finish line, as my grandfather was stepping off the ship, the schemer tossed a single bauble before his path. The ol’ greedy guts bent to pick it up, confident in his winning, and when he looked up… there was the grinning bastard on the dock.”

Willy flipped the golden bauble end over end. It landed in the fountain with a sharp _plonk_! Ripples spread out over the surface.

Sorren was just about to comment on the fact that they were here to take gold, not leave it here, when a tiny light flickered to life up in the canopy. A second one followed, then a third, then a fifth and a tenth. Dozens of lights, yellow, pink, blue, green, white appeared all around them. Sorren tensed. He threw a concerned glance at Willy. The young sailor was grinning wider then Sorren had ever seen him, staring up at the canopy above. Sorren flicked his eyes back to the trees just as the lights began to move.

They fluttered, they swooped, they twirled, they winked through the air like snowflake flurries. A warm hand at Sorren’s back pushed him closer. One of the lights, a soft blue one dipped down close to his face. From the middle of it two crystalline eyes surveyed him. It was… alive! A creature, of some sort, clad in silver and gold.

“It’s… a… it’s a… what is it?” Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t a pirate’s treasure.

Willy beamed at him. “It’s a stained glasswork dragon, Sorren. The only stained glassworks in the world. At least that anyone knows of.”

“A glasswork…” he’d read about the little creatures, of course, but he’d never seen one up close. Silverport didn’t have a large enough artisan district to entice the little creatures from the wild like Alabaster City had. The little dragon tilted it’s head at Sorren, curiosity sparkling from it’s eyes. It was clad all in scarps of precious metal and glass intricately wrought into exquisite armor. Between the gaps in the impossibly small chain links, soft fur poked through. It’s wings whirled rapidly, creating a gentle breeze that kissed Sorren’s eyelashes. It’s wings were especially beautiful, the elytron striated like a butterfly’s, every patch a different hue. The light, which Sorren saw was a tiny luminescent bulb tied to it’s tail, lit the wing casings from behind, creating ever-shifting rainbow’s across his and Willy’s faces. With a trill, the little creature whizzed past the two of them, it’s curiosity apparently sated.

Sorren tracked the little dragon’s path as it circled them, before shooting off to join it’s brethren. There were more of them now. Dozens, upon dozens dropped down from the trees, lighting up the canopy above. Their light allowed Sorren to see what the strange shapes had been. Balls of blown glass in every color imagined hung from the trees. It was from these the glassworks poured out in droves, their lanterns creating brilliant bursts of color as they dove in and out of them; a silent fireworks display to rival Silverport’s own light festival.

Sorren had never thought that something could take his breath away - that it was merely a phrase, but in that moment the glassworks had stolen it completely. He’d stepped away from Eldemore and onto the very back of Faldinreach to watch the stars at play. They danced, they flirted, they quarreled, and they waged war - swirling galaxies enacting the petty squabbles and dramatics of mortal beings. And yet how beautiful those squabbles appeared from a distance, the glassworks all moving and chasing, and parting for one another like a fleet of ships, joining together like a flock of crows. Not unlike the city they had left behind; all chaos and order.

“By Oblivion’s twinkling toes…” Willy breathed beside him, dumbstruck by the sight. But Sorren didn’t hear him.

The halfborn found that he was trembling, something welling up inside him. It built and built. Sharp, and painful, and exquisite. _Magic._

_No!_

It was too much. His head was swirling. He shut his eyes. Shut out the light. Willed himself to get a hold of him emotions. But the lights still danced behind his eyelids, violent and pulsing… something in him reared, desperate to break free, to run wild after the glassworks. He felt it, the magic in his blood, pounding in his veins, raising the hairs on his neck - or were they feathers? He could feel the electricity singing in every atom, arching through every neuron. It was intoxicating… overwhelming… he was losing his focus…

Something warm and firm grabbed hold of him. It wrapped itself in his fingers and called him back to the ground. “Ye alright there, Sorren? You look like you’re about to blow chunks. Could you uh… turn a bit so’s you don’t hit my boots when you do?”

And he laughed, a short sharp bark, that seemed to evaporate the tightness in his chest. He opened his eyes; focused in on Willy. He looked down at their entwined hands. “I’m alright.”

The other didn’t look so sure. He tilted his head. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.” He paused. “It could use some work. But we’re not done here yet.”

Sorren took in a steadying breath. “Right.” He pulled his hand away. “The treasure. I suppose these little fellows are what you dragged me out here for?” He glanced back at them. Things were starting to make a bit more sense to him. It wasn’t the treasure he was expecting, but he imagined these things could fetch a small fortune in the right marketplaces. “Are you going to get one for your friend?” He felt a slight pang at the thought of that, but business was business.

“Nope. It’s either all or none.”

Sorren stared at him. There had to be… at least a hundred lights dancing around the greenhouse, maybe more. “Willy - that’s not feasible. We don’t have all night to go around catching these things.”

Willy laughed. It was warm and rich and full of light. “You birdbrain - we’re not here to _catch_ the treasure. I told you - we’re here to _liberate_ it.”

The halfborn’s jaw dropped. Already Willy was hopping around the room like a spring jackalope. “What do you mean ‘liberate’?! _Let them go?!_ ”

“That is generally what the term ‘liberate’ implies, yes.” Willy bent down to grab hold of a large rock and began trying to lift it.

Sorren sputtered. All this trouble, all this work; staking out the place, enlisting Sorren’s aid, scaling a rooftop, running from dire wolves, breaking into a greenhouse, and he wanted to throw his precious treasure to the winds? “ _Why?_ ”

Willy straightened, abandoning the stone. He looked at Sorren, brown eyes oddly thoughtful. They went deeper then Sorren has realized, the iris flecked with rich tones, like the hull of an aged ship. “I couldn’t tell ya,” Willy confessed. His eyes seemed to say something else; he knew what he was doing, even if he couldn’t voice it. “It’s just… right.”

Something seemed to wash through Sorren. A sort of wave of understanding, as if he could feel Willy’s will. And though he couldn’t explain it, he too felt like it was just… right. These glassworks weren’t meant to be caged up; he’d known that as soon as he saw them, and his magic had known it too. He could feel it now, humming pleasantly beneath his skin.

“They were never anyone’s to give in the first place,” Willy went on, stooping to pick up a smaller, but no less heavy rock. He grunted as he hefted it onto his shoulders.

“Okay.” Sorren’s voice sounded weak in his own ears.

“Okay.”

“What about your friend?”

Willy looked at him.

“And… why the hell did you drag me out here?”

Willy smiled. The light from the dancing glassworks cast his broad face in a kaleidescope of shifting colors. “Because I couldn’t wrap this for you.”

Sorren jerked in surprise. He and Willy stared at each other for a heartbeat.

 _Him?_ Willy had gone through all this trouble for… him. That made no sense. And it was wonderful that it didn’t make sense. No, no, it wasn’t wonderful - it was moronic. Wonderfully moronic. He’d never received a gift from a friend before. The thought that anyone would go to so much trouble to impress _him_ … To share something as precious as this ancient lightshow. Was it a trick? It had to be a trick. But it was hard to think Willy’s motives might be ulterior when his grin was making his eyes crinkle up, and the world around them was a spinning array of colored lights, and his own heart was soaring alongside the glassworks. No, this wasn’t a trick, but it felt like a hallucination.

His mouth tried to form a sentence, a word - hell, any sort of utterance would do, but it had decided to stop working in that moment. His first instinct was to tell Willy off for being a sentimental idiot, for putting him through all this, question just what in Oblivion’s name was wrong with him. And then… maybe a thank you. That was what one did when receiving a gift, right?

Alas, his tongue had affixed itself to the roof of his mouth and his jaw wasn’t functioning, so he just stared at Willy like a dead fish. The air between them felt as fragile as the glass around them. Willy’s eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement, and maybe a bit of embarrassment, waiting eagerly for Sorren’s reaction.

“Oh - shit!” Willy had forgotten he was still holding the stone, and in that moment he overbalanced, and the rock, with his arms still attached, dropped to the floor with a crunch. Sorren shook himself, free of the spell, and stooped to help Willy lift the rock again.

“Count of three,” Sorren told him. They heaved the rock upwards together, and swung it forwards and back.

“One!”

“Two!”

They sang out the last in sync. “ _Three!_ ”

**_Crash!_ **

The rock flew through the panels of the greenhouse. A thousand cracks spider-webbed their way across the surface, and hung suspended for one brief moment over the perfect hole. Somewhere in the distance, a dire wolf started howling.

Then everything shattered, rending apart the silence of the night. A blast of bitter cold hit the two men’s faces. A ripple ran through the collection of glassworks, as the cold invaded the summer sanctuary. They stalled in their flight, wings thrumming.

Willy’s voice was strangely soft. “They smell it.”

“What?”

“The snow on the air. It’s been over fifty years. But they remember the smell of snow.”

And so they did. As the two of them watched, the glassworks seemed to surge into a frenzy, darting this way and that. Their lanterns brightened, the glass balls flared up with light, spun with color, and shattered into a million dazzling pinpricks. Glassworks flew upwards from every nook and cranny. The flock of them bunched and swelled. The combined light dazzled Sorren’s eyes - he couldn’t keep them open against the growing brightness. The tiny creatures swirled around the two - weaving a web of light between and across them. Sorren bumped into Willy as the glassworks’ circle tightened.

He could feel the magic in the air, so thick he could taste it on the very tip of his tongue, buttery and metallic. Their magic sang to his own blood, but he felt no need to join their song.

The lights whirled about, faster and faster now, a maelstrom of color and shape, an orchestra of stars building to crescendo.

Sorren grabbed Willy’s arm and dove aside just as the column of light launched itself towards the hole behind them. They barely avoided being swept up in the tide of tiny creatures. Glass fell as the little dragons knocked the remnants of the window aside. Sorren dragged Willy back along the way they come, stumbling half-blind over roots and pots.

Behind them, hundreds of glassworks woke to the scent of winter air, a scent they hadn’t known for decades, and they went chasing after it into the night, their many wings making a sound like dozen waterfalls.

Sorren and Willy reached the door of the greenhouse, and burst out into the night. Muzu cawed out at them in alarm, as he spiraled down to shelter from the lights. Willy whirled, forcing Sorren to stop.

“Willy - let’s move! At any moment someone is going to -”

“Look, Sorren!” Willy grabbed Sorren by the chin and turned it towards the sky behind them.

A river of glassworks poured from the hole. As one they spiraled skyward, a pillar of light, to meet the stars, reaching upwards as if the twinkling lights were their long-lost brothers. Sorren felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Thousands of them lit the night sky with their brilliance. Snowflakes bounced their colors back, until it seemed like the whole world was a dazzling Yuletide tree. Night had been transformed into a daybreak of pinks, greens, blues and every shade in between as rainbows went skittering over the snow.

It was even more beautiful to see the glassworks dancing on the wild wind, rejoicing in their freedom, riding on the currents. Free and wild; the tiny masters of the sky. He’d never seen anything so wondrous - and to think it had been sitting here in Silverport, right under his nose for so long. To think, they’d still be locked in that tiny glass house if not for…

Heat at his side made Sorren aware of something else that had been right under his nose. The smell of brine and ginger beer washed over him, but Sorren didn’t protest at the closeness. He could let Willy have this… whatever it was, this time. He’d probably earned it. So he let the youth lean in companionably close for that one moment. It made Sorren feel fuzzy, and he sort of hated Willy for that fact, and sort of didn’t. _Tomorrow,_ Sorren decided. _Tomorrow I’ll put him back in his place._

“Happy Yuletide Sorren.” Willy told his new friend, as the young halfborn watched the free glassworks, and listened to the sounds of the city awakening from it’s winter slumber.

“I think they let the wolves out.”

“Yee-aah. We should probably run for it.”

And run they did.

**Author's Note:**

> And that is how the Stained Glasswork Dragons came to Silverport.
> 
> Little backstory though, Bena actually gifted me my Stained Glasswork, so that inspired the writing of this story in a lot of ways.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this little bit of holiday fluff! ^^ It was a new and interesting challenge, but I always wanted to write these two, especially as youngsters. The plot itself is sloppy, I know - some parts probably drag on, others need more description, or a complete reworking. Feel free to point those out if you like, though I doubt I'll be doing any major editing to this, unless it's simply impossible to follow.
> 
> It's also sappier then a grove of pine trees, but it was fun to write, and I hope you can all enjoy it! ^^
> 
> Happy Yuletide my fellow Eldemorians!


End file.
